


Send This Out to Sea

by drosophilase



Category: Last Friday Night (Music Video), Struck by Lightning (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drosophilase/pseuds/drosophilase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson isn't quite sure what to do when he comes home to an upset Aaron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send This Out to Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposting from tumblr because AO3 needs all the caaron fic. All of it.

Carson strips off his jacket and boots when he walks into the pleasant warmth of the apartment, throwing his shoulder bag onto the table next to Aaron’s.

As he does every day, Carson smiles despite himself at the contents of the key bowl, a silver half-heart C keychain that matches his own half engraved with an A, nudges his keyring closer until the magnets catch and make a whole heart. Aaron had been so proud of himself when he presented them to Carson on Christmas morning that he couldn’t even begin to scoff at how cheesy it was. _"Two whole years together, Carson,"_  he had said emphatically, like Carson didn’t realize the gravity of that number.  _"That’s a long-ass time. We’re allowed to have stupid sappy keychains, I promise."_

 

"Aaron?" he calls as he grabs a Coke Zero from the fridge that takes up half the space in their tiny kitchen, cracking it open and moving to their just-as-tiny living room. "You should hear what that dean had to say about tuition increases, really, he was just so—"

He stops short, can nearly slipping from his fingers.

"Um?" Carson asks cautiously, resting a hip on the arm of the couch. "Are you okay?"

Carson just stops himself from laughing at the sight, Aaron lying the wrong way across the seat, legs hanging off the back and head dangling inches from the coffee table.

Aaron groans dejectedly, flinging an arm up to let it flop back onto his stomach. “Just leave me here to die.”

"I’m afraid there would be more than a few people on my ass if I let that happen," Carson quips loftily, ruffling Aaron’s already-messy hair as he goes by, leaving his pathetically pained groan behind as Carson gets his laptop from the study and brings it back to the living room.

Propping his feet on the coffee table, Carson settles in with his page of scribbled interview notes and a half-written article. A handful of paragraphs in, he stops, words frustratingly out of reach, and squints at his notes again. Sneaks a look at Aaron who still hasn’t moved, face tinged red with displaced blood and deep, slow breaths through his nose and out his mouth.

It’s rare for Carson to see Aaron upset— though admittedly it’s much rarer for Aaron to see Carson break down— and it always leaves Carson at a loss, unsure how to respond when the one dependable constant in his life becomes shaky. Aaron’s bad times come sporadically and leave without much resistance, manifest as days when he just doesn’t want to do much of anything, when he just curls into Carson’s side, heaves frustrated sighs and talks in circles until Carson tentatively rubs his back, curves to match him, and gives Aaron the reassurance he needs.

But today is rarer still, when Aaron doesn’t immediately come whining with a puppy-dog sad face and grabby hands, doesn’t launch into a massive retelling and even longer analysis of what’s bothering him.

Carson thinks maybe he should ask him what’s wrong, but Aaron opens his eyes to look unseeingly at the TV and the words get stuck in his throat. Sometimes he knows Aaron is going to bounce right back, that he’ll be sad for an hour or two but find his way right back out of it, but this— doesn’t feel like one of those times.

Paralyzed with indecision, because even after two years, Carson still can’t quite call himself an expert on Aaron Christopherson, still misreads him more often than not and had to learn a long time ago to be generous with apologies— unsure what to do, Carson looks down at the article open on his computer. It’s almost a hundred words short and probably riddled with grammatical and format errors but…

Aaron sighs again, barely louder than his breathing but it makes Carson close his laptop and put it aside, making up his mind in an instant.

It takes some maneuvering and he can’t even imagine that Aaron managed to get into this position with any semblance of grace, but sitting backwards on the couch and propping his knees up, scooting over close until there’s only an inch between their thighs and laying back carefully— Carson ends up right next to Aaron, wondering what he sees as he looks right through the upside-down TV cabinet, getting used to the sensation of his head being lower than his body.

Aaron settles into him, closing the last inches and crossing their ankles together. He can’t see anything but the very tips of Aaron’s hair (not spiked up today, just fallen away from his face due to gravity, and Carson  _should have noticed_  that this morning but he was so preoccupied with his exam—) but he can feel the familiar, comforting warmth of Aaron’s shoulder pressed into his.

A pinky nudges the back of Carson’s hand and he immediately covers Aaron’s hand with his own, squeezing tight when he can hear the breath get choked at the back of Aaron’s throat.

"Tell me about it, baby," Carson says quietly, careful not to say anything more as Aaron finally speaks.


End file.
